Do You Love Me?
by Sexy-Tacos-Emo-Waffles
Summary: They were in the middle of bumbfuck Nebraska when fate decided to slap their faces into reality. Wherein the boys are on the road again, and run into another SPN convention, where some mind-bending role-playing goes down that changes their relationship entirely. WARNING: Wincest Dean/Sam. Spoilers: up to Season 8. Suggestive scenes!
1. The Diner That Started Their Woes

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N: **Thanks for stopping by to read this. It's going to get... interesting. I'm putting it up here to test if it'll work out or not. Enjoy!

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Sam and Dean had been on the road for 53 hours, and in their reluctance to stop, had only made three pit-stops at equally sketchy interstate diners that had flickering neon signs and all served sludge for coffee and greasy food with a side of slop.

It was just them, the impala, and the sleek expanse of black pavement that stretched on infinitely. These were the times that made Dean appreciate their lifestyle, how even when the entire world was after them – angels, demons, fbi, cia, leviathans – they could hit the open road and forget about their troubles, if only for one night. For all of the things he'd been cheated out of throughout his life, Dean felt pretty lucky that he wasn't an ignorant fool who was rooted in an office building, living through books and fiction.

The folky strains of Credence Clearwater seeped through the Impala's speakers, loud enough to leak out the open windows and get caught in the back drift, creating a surround sound that flowed as one with the car. Dean's discarded leather jacket, which had been shoved into the backseat after the sun had begun beating down upon the open plains, had fallen onto the floor, completely covering up the box of mix-tapes.

"_What in the world are these?" Dean exhumed the moldy cardboard box out of the Impala's trunk, and examined the unfamiliar cassette tapes with a critical leer._

"_Oh those, they're nothing. I got them from you – from Bobby, for you, I mean." Sam said, rubbing one of his hands on his neck, avoiding meeting Dean's eyes._

_Dean hefted the box onto a nearby stool, and began sifting through the tapes. He got a wicked twinkle in his eyes._

"_Sammy, are these mix tapes?" he asked, examining the un-labeled tapes in the box._

_Sam cleared his throat, and tried to look busy, shuffling through the trunk._

"_Oh, Sammy! How thoughtful!" Dean said mocking as he normally did, but he stopped short when he noticed Sam's clenched jaw._

_Dean set the tapes back in the box and walked over to Sam, and reached out with his left hand to jostle his shoulder, "Sammy? Sam?"_

"_You were gone." Sam said, eying the box of cassette tapes._

"…"

"_You were gone," Sam said, the words slipping through his teeth like a hissing snake, "you were irrevocably gone, Dean. I had to do something to keep me from cracking. It was the closest I could be to you, without digging up your grave and lying beside your rotting corpse!"_

_Dean said nothing, and flinched when he saw the raw pain burning in Sam's eyes when he turned around._

_ There was nothing he could say to apologize – his death had obviously left a deep scar that could never go away._

_ For five minutes, they stood stationary, warily watching each other's movements, as if one of them would crack._

_ "…Can I listen to them?" Dean said, cracking a smile that barely even reached a smirk._

_ Sam let out a scoff, "I'm not your owner Dean, do whatever you want!" And just like that, things had gone back to normal. _

_ Eventually Dean had listened to them and cringed – he hadn't heard music that bad since the single school dance he had attended, but it was so much the essence of Sam, that Dean kept them anyways._

The sun was blazing high overhead, but Sam was fast asleep, his head lolling against the seat, with both legs jammed against the low dashboard, spread open in a v-shape to get optimum room, and Dean found himself getting distracted – obviously by how uncomfortable Sam must be, not anything strange like how tantalizing the in-seam of Sam's jeans looked.

A blaring car horn awoke Dean from his… distractions, and he quickly swerved out of the way of an angry black truck. Honestly, just because the car was big and had buff wheels was not an entitlement for drivers to be aggressive assholes.

"Fuck you too!" Dean said, glaring at the vehicle that sped around the next turn and barely kept from overturning into a ditch, "that's what you get."

"Mnnf" said the talking ball of hair, sitting in the passenger seat, as it came into consciousness.

Sam, the hairball, sat up and stretched, forgetting he was in a car, and weakly hit Dean in the face with an outstretched limb. The hair monster let out a confused hum.

Eyes still closed, Sam opened his palm and patted what he had hit, and Dean spluttered.

"Sammy, not when I'm driving!" Dean said and he got a slap from the offending hand, "Hey, watch it! I make money with this"

Sam retracted his hand, grumbled some more, and opened his eyes, rubbed them, then looked again, "Wow this looks exactly the same as when I went to sleep."

"Tell me about it. I've almost been wondering if I'm driving in circles."

"Hey, can we stop soon?" Sam asked, and Dean slowed down a bit.

"What? I mean, sure, but why?"

"Mmm, I dunno. Just a feeling."

Dean wanted to comment on Sam's feelings, but it's been a sore spot since well, Sam lost his soul and got it back.

Not even halfway through the next Bad Company song, Sam perked up, "Here! Let's stop here, Dean."

"Calm your girly pants, Sammy. Are you sure? It looks a bit run-down," Dean said wearily, eying the dirty, deserted diner with skepticism.

"Come on Dean, it looks no different than any other roadside diner. Unless you're… scared?" Sam said, teasing.

Dean huffed, but pulled into the dingy parking lot, pulling into the nearest spot with screeching tires, before putting it in park.

"Was that necessary?" Sam said, clenching his jaw.

"Was what necessary, Sammy? Are you feeling okay?" Dean said with a smirk, putting on a coy look.

Sam glowered, but he had a skip in his step. Dean shook his head.

The rectangular building was barely bigger than a trailer house, and it was ten times as dirty, covered in a thick layer of dirt. The front was covered in grimy windows, with cheap, napkin-like curtains on the inside to obscure the gazes of leery drivers. There was only one door, with the atypical white shades that never opened or closed, with a fuzzy brown welcome mat sitting in front.

"Y'know what they say Sammy, appearance is everything. If they skimp on the outer, they'll skimp even more on the food!" Dean said, with a lilt of jocularity in his voice.

Sam flipped his hair, "We've had worse. And if I don't eat right now, I might be sick."

Dean shook his spikes, and pocketed the Impala's keys in the front right pocket of his scratched up Levi's.

"The things I do for my brother," he said, taking one last glance at his baby, before grabbing the gritty door knob and stepping into the dilapidated diner.

* * *

**TBC…**


	2. Marking His Territory

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N: **Thanks for stopping by to read this. Things are about to get wibbly wobbly. Thank you wonderful anon Spotz for your review. It was relieving to find out this wasn't a total floozy. ILY! ;) Enjoy!

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The bell above the door gave a little jingle, but there was no immediate greeting. There were only two other patrons, both sitting on opposite sides of the cramped diner, wearing their respective trucker caps and plaid lumberjack shirts. Neither of them faces the entrance way, and Dean was almost relieved that he didn't have to meet their hardened gazes.

Sam lead them to the second to last booth, here the red leather seats had the least amount of rips and foam on display.

Dean slid into the booth with an "oomph", as the impact sent dust flying into the air, from the unused seat cushion.

Dean gave Sam a raised eyebrow, "Quality."

Voices arose from the kitchen, and Dean winced as a deep voice said sharply, "Darla! Git that beyfurr we lose aynother custymer!"

"Shut your trap, Pappy! I'm goin' as fast as I can!" a shrill voice replied, smacking what could only be gobs of gum, in-between each spoken clause.

Darla pushed her way into the diner-front with a frown, chewing her gum with a wide open mouth, and then began to make her way over to the boys. She attempted to put on her charm, squishing together her lopsided breasts, which practically spilled out of her low-cut white waitress-shirt, as she saddled up to their booth.

"Hi y'all…" she said in her shrill drawl, drawing out the pops of her gum so she could show off her tongue. She batted her lashes, and ran her left hand down the seam of her shirt, down her stomach, into the apple-red pocket of her mini-apron. She pulled out a small note-pad and a sparkly blue gel pen, all the while never losing eye contact with Sam.

Dean cleared his throat, but she didn't stop. In fact, she became even more overt, leaning over to flick some "lint" off of Sam's jacket.

Dean hated her already. She was a dirty tramp, probably carrying more diseases than the dirty diner and its customer's combined.

"Sorry Darlin'," pop, "is there any-" pop, "thing I can get y'all?" she said, still smacking her gum, propping a fist on her right hip.

"Sure thing, Darling," Dean said with a sugar sweet voice, "I was wondering if you have any sausages; preferably the really meaty kind - with sauce, lots of sauce."

Sam was staring at him oddly, but Dean paid him no mind.

The waitress sent Dean a glare, but wrote it down anyways, "And as for you, Sugar?"

"Uhm, do you have any chicken salads?" Sam asked, politely avoiding her cleavage.

"Anything for you," she said leering at his chest, "will that be all?"

"Yes-" Sam said, but Dean spoke over him.

"Actually, I think I'll have some red hot jalapenos with my sausage… and maybe some… sliced cucumber."

The waitress smacked her gum in annoyance, and Dean smirked.

"Never mind, I'll just get a juicy burger."

Darla's face turned sour, her nostrils flaring, as she smashed the gum between her scraggly teeth and scratched out Dean's previous order. She gave Sam a wink and turned on her heel, but Dean's voice stopped her from taking any steps.

"And Darling? You have something, right here." He mimed wiping his entire face. She actually didn't have anything, but he really didn't like her. At first she looked shocked, but then she caught on to his game and frowned. With a frustrated grunt, she stomped off into the back room, where her gum popping could be heard loud and clear through the walls, like the incessant moaning of a bothersome spirit.

Sam was giving Dean a look, one of those why-are-you-such-a-jerk-stop-embarrassing-me-in-public looks that Dean prided himself on receiving.

"I'm just doing my daily good deed, Sammy. Letting the thick-headed bimbos know their place."

Sam didn't look pacified, in fact, he looked rather constipated.

"What, come on Sammy, it's not like you appreciated her advances, anyway!" the upper left corner of Dean's mouth quirked up, but it fell flat when Sam still didn't respond.

"Sammy, I'm just joking. No harm done!"

"She's a human being Dean. Just because she might not be the brightest creature to grace this Earth, it doesn't give you the divine right to ridicule her!" Sam seethed, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull.

"Okay, I'm sorry." Dean held his hands up in defeat, not wanting to get into an argument over a dumb bimbo. He'd learned a long time ago that it was better to pretend to go along with Sam, rather than to outwardly oppose him. It always led to them splitting up, and Dean hated that more than anything. They had been separated more than enough, in his opinion. Nothing was gained from their diverging travels.

While they waited for their low-class high-calorie meals, they discussed their usual agenda – any odd occurrences nearby or any new jobs – and it wasn't long before their food was being placed in front of them by a peeved Darla.

She let Dean's burger drop gracelessly onto the table, while she gave Sam the special treatment, leaning over to place everything right in front of him, accidentally knocking over the salad dressing into his lap in the process.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry!" she smiled, "Here, let me get that!" Darla reached into the depths of her red pockets again, and pulled out a wet washcloth, and proceeded to fondle Sam's crotch. Sam tried to push her off, but she was relentless.

Dean crossed his arms, not even slightly amused by her hapless antics. In fact, he was rather annoyed. Women were pitiful sometimes, tripping over themselves for a hot piece of ass.

After some more struggling, Sam managed to push her away, and she sauntered back into the kitchen area like a satisfied cat.

They finished up their food fast, with an awkward silence hanging between them. Dean dropped a twenty on the table and left before the waitress could come out and sexually harass Sam again.

Dean was getting ready to climb in the driver's side, but Sammy and his monster legs got in his way. He handed over the keys without saying anything, and went over to the passenger side and got in.

The stereo crooned out the sweet twangs of Blue Oyster Cult and Dean dozed in and out of consciousness. Just as the sun began to descend, the Impala dinged angrily at its passengers. Dean sat upright immediately, "What's wrong?"

"The oil signal is flashing – shit; we're almost out of gas."

"What." Dean said; it wasn't a question, "I filled up the tank five hours ago. It can't already be empty! Damnit!"

The headlights rolled over a small green sign, announcing an exit in half a mile.

Dean slammed his open palms upon the Impalas' dashboard and cursed, "I knew we shouldn't have stopped at that dingy diner!"

Sam turned at the exit, just as the sun fell below the horizon. Great. They were stuck in the middle of bumbfuck Nebraska, on an empty tank of gas. Life sure liked to mess with the Winchesters.

For a small town in the middle of nowhere, the only hotel was abnormally packed. Sam had to park the Impala in an adjacent parking lot, and when they entered the white building, there were large posters on all of the walls.

"Welcome!" a dainty voice said from behind the cream counter, "I see you're here for the Supernatural convention!"

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TBC... it might get a little bit inaprope next chapter, but nothing explicit. ;)


	3. The Calm Before The Storm

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N: **I appreciate all of you who popped a squat and are still reading this. 3 There's actually nothing risqué in this chapter, but there will be. ;) Special thanks to these magnificent people: kdjw, anon Guest, ChevyImpalla1967, and mb64. Let me love you! Seriously, your comments mean a lot to me. Enjoy!

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Dean paused, and Sam tripped over the wrinkled carpet, landing on the floor with a thump.

"Sorry, did you say 'Supernatural convention'?" Dean said, tilting his head as if to drain water out of his ear drums.

"Yes sir! I'd recognize that leather jacket anywhere; you must be a Dean!" the lady had a wonderful smile, but she was too perky for such a random occurrence.

Sam managed to stand up without any further incidents, and he tugged on Dean's sleeve.

"Would you please excuse us for a second, miss?" Dean put on his cheesiest smile, walking away without her response.

"Does this seem suspicious to you?" Sam said in a whisper, his body completely tense.

Dean gave him a subtle nod, and gestured for him to go check outside for any suspicious characters.

Dean walked up to one of the obviously home-made posters, and couldn't find anything suspicious. It seemed to be entirely fan-organized, and Chuck wasn't even making an appearance.

Sam stepped back in, and shook his head; everything seemed normal. Just a really fucking weird coincidence.

"Uh, hi," Dean said, startling the receptionist, "Actually, we aren't here to cosplay; our car broke down, and this was the closest town."

"My bad," she said sympathetically, pulling a pen free from its spot on her ear, "We only have singles open right now, so I hope you and your partner don't mind."

"He's not my-" Dean started to say, but Sam interrupted him.

"We don't mind," Sam said, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Great!" she said, pulling a white card out of her jean pocket, "here's a card with all of the major numbers in this town, in case you need anything. The mechanic should be on there, but you best wait til the morning to call him – he's not one to take kindly to calls in the middle of the night."

She disappeared into a back room, and then came back out with a silver key on a green keychain that was marked with the hotel's namesake. "You're on the second floor, in the far left corner. I'll be down here if you need anything."

Sam took the key with a small, "Thanks," and headed towards the stairs, while Dean went to the car to grab their travel bags.

When he got the stairwell, he was unsettled to find a girl in a plaid jacket crying on the bottom steps. Her hair was short and dark brown, and gelled into a soft faux-hawk. He was never good with comforting distressed women, after being raised by to emotionally stunted men.

Instead of bothering her, he just continued on up the steps, and the girl let out a loud whine and said, "He'll never know how much I love him!"

Her words almost stopped him in his tracks, but he figured she wasn't talking to him, and he quickened his pace.

"My baby brother, he doesn't even know how much I've," hiccup, "done for him!" and she collapsed into loud, squeaky sobs.

Sam all but ran up the stairs, almost tripping in his haste to get away. What a weirdo. He was relieved when he finally stumbled out onto the second floor, even though the carpet was an ugly sea-foam green and was speckled with tan stains.

He treaded carefully over the questionable carpet, grimacing when he was rewarded with a sick squish. He didn't dare chance a glance at his shoe – he'd rather not want to find out what mystery liquid has defiled his shoe.

The dim hallway had ten rooms on each side, each door having its own unique engravings. The further down the hall Sam walked, the motel's musky scent became more poignant.

By the time he reached the last room on left, he was beginning to rethink his decision – maybe he and Dean would be better off sleeping in the Impala… but then again, they'd spent the past two days on the road, and he was sick of being cramped.

With narrowed eyes Sam assessed the small red door and took note of the numerous flecks of peeling paint. He took in a deep breath and inserted the key into the dull keyhole, and reluctantly turned the knob.

Peering into the room, because he refused to set foot inside without a thorough examination, Sam realized he was acting unduly paranoid. Sometimes weird shit happens, and its not always a trap.

The walls were a plum-purple, which made the room appear to be shrinking – and as for the floor, it was fluffy and sky blue. What a high class joint.

The single queen bed wasn't a sightfor sore eyes either, consisting of silvery satin pillows and silky golden sheets. As if it wasn't bad enough, when Sam flicked on the light switch, he was rewarded with a rotating disco-ball, rather than a lamp.

Sam had left the door cracked open for Dean, so he had no qualms when he face-planted onto the strangely decorated bed.

Dean rushed into the motel room without sparing any backwards glances, and he did a double take at the garish decorum. Someone running this motel was working too hard without any play – the entire room reeked of sexual frustration.

Dean dropped his and Sam's travel bags in the furthest corner, where they wouldn't become obstacles, before he made a beeline for the bed that the giant was currently dozing on. "Move over,"Dean said, nudging Sam's slumbering form with his elbow, none too gently. He was fucking exhausted and it was all Sam's fault they were stuck – the oversized baby was going to receive zero sympathy from Dean. Nobody puts baby in the garage.

Sam flopped over, but ended up covering even more surface area than before, spreading his legs wide over the large bed. Little brothers, what could you do – he hadn't even removed his shoes yet.

Dean let out a sigh, reflecting on how some things never change – even as a big boy, Sam still couldn't take care of himself.

He was about to climb onto the bed, but the call of nature was too strong, and he drifted off to the bathroom.

The bathroom was located adjacent to the motel door, and it's volume was equal to that of a small pantry. Dean couldn't even close the door without standing on the toilet. Well, fat chance of doing that, he glanced back at Sam then dropped his pants. Who needs doors, anyways.

After finishing up, he ignored the sink and instead chose to ruffle through Sam's travel-bag, until he found the Twilight Woods hand sanitizer. Sometimes Dean wondered about Sam, because it seemed like only girls carried scented hand sanitizer, if any at all.

Motel soap, more often than not, made Dean's skin break out in a rash, of all things, and he wasn't in the mood for any medical mishaps.

After squeezing a heaping dollop of the musky sanitizer onto his palm, dean let the small bottle drop gracelessly atop of Sam's bag. Dean rubbed it in, and almost choked on the strong scent of the cleansing alcohol. He shrugged out of his shirt, flung it in the corner, slipped off his shoes, and attempted to pull off his socks while standing. He hopped about, half bent over, whilst grabbing his leg with one hand and grasping the sock with his other, and just barely extracted it from his foot. He repeated his performance with the other foot, and let the socks drop to the floor. Sleeping in socks had to be one of the most uncomfortable and disgusting things. Finally, he made his way over Sam.

His brother let out a loud snore that sounded like a growling grizzly bear and he had to pause. Dean took a moment to let his eyes rake over the slumbering form of his brother, feeling nostalgia wash over him like a wave. He felt as if they were young again, waiting for their Dad to come back from his job.

Carefully, Dean grabbed hold of Sam's left shoe, and began to unlace the knots, then slipped it off, did the Sam to the right, and placed them near the foot of the bed. He left Sam's socks alone, though, because they stunk like a moldy cheese & fish casserole, left to rot in the sun.

For his next course of action, Dean climbed up on the edge of the bed and forcefully maneuvered Sam onto his own side. There was a brief pause in Sam's snores, but he didn't stir and inch. He was like a fucking log, when he slept.

Dean allowed his body to fall limp on the bed, burying his head into the pillow, and blacked out almost immediately.

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**TBC... **Ahah, I didn't read this over for errors, oops. I promise, next chapter, the shenanigans will begin.


	4. Meet The Neighbors

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N:** You guys spoil me, and all have a special place in my heart 3 Lots of love to: ChevyImpalla1967, anon Spotz, kjdw, anon guest, and mb64. It means so much to me that you guys are giving this a chance and came back. You are all wonderful people.

Things are about to get… interesting ;) Very suggestive, but nothing explicit. Enjoy!

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Sam awoke, his body jolting upright, as it was racked with violent tremors – no, as the bed shook. Something was causing the tumultuous rhythm, but Sam's mind was still in the process of waking up, and he couldn't figure out why.

Dean was conked out beside him, his face lying in a pool of his own drool, like the slob he was.

The shaking began to steadily increase in intensity, and Sam absently wondered if it was an angry poltergeist.

Maybe he was overthinking things – it was probably just a dream. He slid down back into a recumbent position and had almost convinced himself to fall back asleep, when a loud moan resounded from the wall.

_Dean was standing on a boat – a nice, white cabin-cruiser – sipping on a chilled pink drink, with a lime attached to the rim of his glass._

_The sun shone down upon his face, and he could feel freckles forming on his freckles, it was so intense – no, he was mistaken. The boat was shaking and shuddering in a way such that it was aberrance; even with waves the boat was not meant to jump about the ocean in an undulating rhythm. _

_None the less, the boat cruised on, and Dean sat his drink down – it didn't even slosh._

Sam's straining eyes noticed the flashing neon-green numbers on the clock atop the bedside table and he grimaced. 2:17 AM, just his luck to wig out in the middle of the night.

The first though to snare his mind was withdrawal – he hadn't suffered any attacks since he'd come back from the pit, but… no, it wasn't possible. And as for his hallucinations, those were long gone… they couldn't be coming back. No.

A brief current of ice flowed through Sam's veins; he'd rather not dwell on whether or not it was possible for his delusions to return.

In a flurry of motion, Dean flipped onto his back and let out a loud snore, like a lawn-mower. At the same time, his right arm flopped onto Sam's abdomen, palm up.

Whatever haze of sleep curtained Sam's mind was left, suddenly dissipated as he sat up fully, and Dean's arm fell limp onto Sam's crotch.

Finally reaching some mental clearance, Sam was able to deduce two things – the bed was indeed shaking, and it wasn't the fault of some angered spirit or anything supernatural.

The stupid, seedy motel must have placed the beds back to back against the wall, and some overly-zealous couple was getting busy.

Crisis solved, Sam slumped onto the mattress for the second time that morning, seeing as it was two-something o'clock, and Dean's arm shifted with him, this time snagging on his shirt and revealing some of his stomach. Sam couldn't bring himself to be bothered.

The moans continued to crescendo, and Sam let out a frustrated huff, grabbing his pillow, and slapping it over his face. This was worse than the time they'd been hired for a job that required them to stay in the house of an overly enthusiastic doll-collector, who talked dirty to the dolls in the middle of the night.

"Oh, Sam!" said an uncharacteristically feminine voice. Sam's first instinct was to accost Dean, but he was still snoozing away. Great, now he would have to suffer through the night, living with the fact that he had an unfortunately common name.

"Sammy, oh Sam!" said the voice, letting out a moan, and Sam tensed. How many people actually went by 'Sammy'? NONE! Literally only dogs and small children preferred that name. Dean's breathing was smooth and uninterrupted, and Sam was almost grateful. Dean would never let him live this down.

"Sam, oh yes! There!" the voice said, almost weeping.

"I've wanted you for so long, baby! So many years." The voice paused to cry out in ecstasy, before continuing, "Mmm, Sammy, You were always my favorite brother."

Sam's heart stopped beating, and he spared Dean a glance from the corner of his eye, refusing to move a muscle in fear of waking him up. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, or was it arousal – no, never. He'd never be aroused by this.

Things kept getting weirder.

"I'm your only," a deeper, brooding voice chimed in, stopping to moan, "brother, De."

Sam choked on his own spit. Fuck.

He used to call Dean 'De' way back when he still idolized him. What in the world was going on – this couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

The bed was still ricocheting like an unstable roller coaster, and in combination with Sam's sudden coughing, Dean finally startled into the world of the living.

It took him a moment to adjust to the fact that he was no longer on a boat, but rather a jostling bed, and he felt reality slap his face like a bittersweet love interest.

Sam's coughs finally subsided, but he'd already woken Dean, and there was no going back now – he almost wanted to die.

"Oh!" the deeper voice purred, "Yes, Dean. You're so… tight. I've always wanted to break you down, to see your tough exterior shatter at my probing fingertips."

Deans ears perked up, "Uh, Sam?"

"Try again," Sam muttered, his voice said, slightly muffled by the pillow obstructing his face.

Fate is a cruel bitch.

Dean's eyes lit with a curious emotion, and his brow furrowed. He was listening intently.

"Huh." Dean said, nonchalantly.

Sam peeked his head out from under the pillow, "'Huh?'" he mocked, "That's all you have to say?"

Dean was silent for three beats, as their neighbors fell into guttural moaning, "Well, there's not much to say."

"But, Dean, they're… Well, you know what they're doing! It's not right!" Sam said, complaining.

"Whatever gets them off. It's not my place to judge them." Dean said, being alarmingly rational for such a blatant disregard for personal breach.

"But, Dean, that's… they're," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "us!"

"No, they're two fictional characters! There's a difference."

"To fictional characters based on us!" Sam couldn't grasp why Dean was playing it off as nothing. He normally couldn't stand Chucks publications of their personal lives.

"Sammy," Dean said at the same time as Fake-Dean and he paused, his face screwing up, before he continued, " some things just aren't worth getting our underwear up in a twist about. This is one of them."

Sam was flabbergasted, but stayed silent.

Suddenly, their neighborly imitators cried out, like angered birds, and the shaking finally slowed.

Sam and Dean both let out loud sighs of relief. That's when Dean realized his hand was still lying on Sam's stomach, absently toying with the hairs.

"Uh…" he said, looking up to meet Sam's flushed face, then snatched his hand away.

"Night." Sam said, flipping over so his back as to Dean.

Dean grunted instead of replying, unsure of what to say. He stared down at his hand for at least three minutes, thinking of the feel of Sammy's smooth skin.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with his thoughts – he can admire smooth skin, if he wants to. It doesn't mean anything.

Yet what his mind couldn't decipher was why his body felt so hot.

It must just have been the sex, in the other room. He just hadn't gotten laid in a while, that was all.

Right.

On that note, he flipped on his side, and shut his eyes.

Not seconds later, the neighboring springs began creaking, with renewed fervor.

Sam and Dean let out twin groans of dismay, and both pulled pillows to cover their heads.

So much for a good night's rest.

* * *

TBC... Now, upon a friend's request, things are going to become explicit in later chapters. If you don't want that, leave me a note and I can arrange for a detour around it. Thanks for reading!


	5. A Day In The Life: Awkward Style

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N: **Really, you guys spoil me. And sorry for all of the grammatical and spelling errors; I let my brain poop this out, and then I publish it. Whatever Microsoft word doesn't catch (and it never catches anything) gets published, and I cringe when I see them xP But ANYWAY!

Merci et beacoup amore to: kjdw, anon Huntergirl, mb64, anon samiam, and Velia Mineantea.

Really, you guys are the reason I haven't given up.

Enjoy! SOME PRONZ (at the very end lol)

* * *

Sam's eyes opened to the glorious sound of silence. Their thoughtful neighbors had kept at it until 5 in the morning, and Sam had given up on hoping they'd ever stop. He had, at some point, wondered how long people could have sex until they died from overexertion.

Obviously five hours of sex seemed to be nothing, and he had rejoiced too soon, seeing as the love birds were having another go, at 9 AM on the dot.

Sam rolled over to see what Dean's reaction was, but his spot on the bed had been vacated.

That was weird. Dean never awoke before Sam did.

He must have been restless, with his precious Impala being compromised. He must have wanted to get an early start. Sam refused to believe that it had anything to do with the rabbits next-door.

Sam net over to his bag, to get out his toothbrush, and was confused as to why his hand sanitizer was laying on top… He picked it up, to examine it more closely. Maybe he had used it at some point last night? Unless Dean used it, and that would mean – gross! Sam dropped it like it was burning; he didn't hesitate at all, nope. He had no reason to want to hold something that Dean had held after touching his, well… It didn't matter, because Sam thought it was gross.

Remembering why he was at his bag in the first place, Sam crouched down, to shuffle through the bag for his toothbrush. He pulled it out with a successful huff, located the toothpaste, brushed his teeth, changed his shirt, and then tried to locate his shoes.

After a brief moment of confusion, Sam's lips quirked up – Dean must have removed his shoes last night. They were sitting at the edge of the bed, and Sam wasted no time slipping them on, making sure to double knot them – no way was he going to lose another shoe!

He tentatively placed one foo on the outside carpet and there was no resulting squish, and he leaned fully into it. He walked briskly down the hallway, avoiding the pungent odor that rose from the rooms, and practically flung himself down the stairs, in his relief. That hallway was a level of Hell that he'd rather avoid at all costs. That's why he was cradling his laptop under his arm – while they were stuck, he figured it would be a good chance to search for new jobs.

When Sam entered the lobby, he almost turned around and retreated back into his room. The lobby was full of… boys and girls cosplaying as Winchesters, lounging about, swapping spit.

He had to be strong – maybe he could find Dean and convince him to book it.

As he made his way through the throng of hormonal cosplayers, he was relatively well ignored – at least, that was until he hit the entry way.

"Hello," said a purring voice that was both deep and feminine, as a hand with long, red-painted fingernails clamped around Sam's wrist, like a shackle.

"Uhm, h-hi?" Sam asked, examining the… man/woman's face, taking in the fake eyelashes, and the fake stubble.

"Oh Sammy, don't be like that to your Uncle Bobby," the voice purred some more, "Come here, take a seat."

There weren't any available seats – even the floor was littered with couples.

"Right here," and fake Uncle Bobby patted to his/her lap.

Sam shifted his weight on his feet, desperately trying to pull away, but fake Uncle Bobby had a strong grip, "No, that's okay. I have to meet my friend anyway."

"Oh, you silly poo, don't leave little old me and Crowley to ourselves! We love company." The voice slithers through Sam's ears like a snake, and with all of his strength he yanks his arm away.

He storms off, out the front entrance, ignoring the concerned chatter that followed him out the door.

After stepping foot outside, he was instantly blinded by the afternoon sun, and he had to shade his eyes to see.

He looked around the parking lot, until he located the Impala.

Dean was peering into the hood, with a frown on his face.

An involuntary smiled spread across his face, there was something undeniably erotic about hot guys working on hot cars – no wait, hot, as in, working hard, and sweating, because it's hot out. Dean's fit, but not hot…

"Dean, hey." Sam said, pushing his thoughts out of the way.

Dean jumped up, and a shiver rippled through his abdominals at hearing Sam's voice so close.

"S-Sammy, scared me there." Dean said, turning around and leaning back, propping his hand on the motor, "Ow fuck!"

"Are you okay?" Sam said, inquiring to the hand Dean as currently cradling.

"Abso-fucking-lutely fine." Dean said with a pained grimace, cursing himself for being so stupid.

"Are you sure? That looked like it really-" Sam said, leaning in close to Dean, to extract his hand, but Dean flinched away.

"Man, nah, it's-I got it, it'll be, "Dean shuffled backwards, until he was pressed against the Impala's bumper.

"Dean, what? Are you sure you're alright?" Sam asked, in his obliviousness, stepping even closer, until their chests were brushing.

Dean felt like he was going to be sick; his heart was racing, he felt like he was being suffocated by a sudden internal heat, and his stomach was urpy like it was full of cicadas – because butterflies were for girls.

"Get away from me, man!" Dean said, lashing out with his voice, and arousal spiked through his veins, "Why are you always so nosey?"

"Hey, calm down! I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurt." Sam said, backing away with his hands up, in a proverbial white flag.

Dean relaxed, but his heart was pumping blood so fast, the oxygen was barely even having time to unload in his brain, before getting pushed back out.

"So, did you figure out what was wrong with the car?" Sam said, tentatively, watching Dean's face carefully.

Dean's shoulders relaxed, but he was still gripping his hand tight, "Some asshole siphoned our gas. I just need to fill up these babies," he said, motioning to two empty red gas containers.

"Well, I'll leave you to it! While you're out though, I'll be at the dinner across the way; I've had enough scarring for my day." Sam said, reaching to pat Dean's shoulder, before retracting his hand at the last moment.

After Sam had made his way well across the street, Dean let out a breath he hadn't know he'd been holding, and he slumped against the car. He needed to get out of this backwater town, and fast – it as infecting his dreams, and his body, and the sooner they left, the better.

/flashback/

(hey guys, here's a warning, if you don't want to read about a dream bj, please skip down to the last few un-italicized sentences. Thanks beebs!)

_Sam's back arched off of the bed, and his thick fingers grappled for purchase on the tightly tucked sheets. Dean circled the slit of his head with a moist tongue, lapping at it like it was candy._

"_Dean!" he cried out, his body heat spiking as the tip of his dick was sucked into Dean's warm, pink mouth._

"_Mmm" Dean hummed around Sam, enjoying the control._

_Lazily, he used encircled the base of Sam's dick with his left hand, and gave it one, two, three slow jerks, and Sam's hips stuttered._

"_D-damnit Dean, don't be a t-tease," Sam whined, clenching his fingers in nothing._

_His words must have struck a chord in Dean, for he suddenly deep-throated Sam's dick, and gave a harsh suck._

_Sam let out a loud yelp, letting one of his hands tangle in Dean's soft spikes, and he yanked, hard. Dean didn't let up._

"_Uhn, Dean" Sam moaned, writhing._

_He tried to buck his hips, but Dean brought up his hand to hold it down._

_Dean's other hand was palming his dick through his jeans, and he was getting restless._

_With a few more jerks of his hand, Dean slid his mouth off of Sam's dick, and began placing kisses up his chest, until their tongues met in a heated tango._

_Sam's hand snaked down to join Dean in undoing his belt buckle, but suddenly things began to fade away_

Dean awoke with a start, to find his arm curled around his brother, and he promptly recoiled and fell off of the bed. He sat up, and rested his head on his bent legs – he was fucked.

And after that, he slunk out of the motel, and had lingered with the Impala ever since – he couldn't trust himself around Sammy anymore.

* * *

TBC... ;) Thanks for sticking with me this far. I'm thinking the next chapter might be my last, it might be longer, too, depending on how everything goes. Plz ignore how rushed the bj scene was, it was my first FULL attempt at writing pronz ;)

ILY! (and I might right a sequel after that, if you guys really want it)

(I'm mortified, stupid microsoft word didn't catch that i had "mist tongue" instead of "moist tongue" I'm so embarrassed but I fixed it)


	6. A Misunderstanding and A Kiss

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N: **Guys, I apologize so much for my writing. It can all be blamed on my brain. It's just a strange place xP I attempted to read this chapter, and started cracking up. Really. I mean, just. Agh.

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO: ChevyImpalla1967, kjdw, Velia Mineantea, mb64, and Subtlelife! You guys are like, my oxygen. Did that sound weird? Oops. I LIKE BUTTS. Sorry.

Oh, Sam gets a bit sassyfrassy (oh god I told you, I'm a weirdo)

ENJOY!

* * *

Sam had spent over an hour in the air conditioned diner, but he couldn't bring himself to focus on searching for any jobs. Every hit was either just an urban spook or a teenage prank, and it didn't help that his mind kept getting fuddled with thoughts of Dean.

After another hour of fruitless researching, Sam slapped his laptop shut, and buried his head in his arms, which were crossed on the table in front of him. He couldn't get visions of Dean out of his head, and his body kept acting of its own accord. Sometimes it felt as if his insides were burning with raw passion, and other times it felt as if he housed an icy mountain stream, trickling from the tip of his head, down a steep slope to the tips of his toes.

He stayed in that position for at least ten minutes, when his peaceful brooding was interrupted.

The diner door opened, with the ching-a-ling of a little bell, like the sort often heard use to call in the cows for round-up. Sam didn't even bother a glance up, but suddenly the hairs on his neck stood at attention.

Whoever had stepped in had at first been engaged in a joyful chatter but suddenly their voice hushed, and footfalls could be heard getting closer towards Sam's seat.

There was a gasp, and suddenly a cold palm pressed against his collar bone, whilst long fingers raked through the hairs on his neck.

He tensed up, like an irritated cat, his hair all but standing on end, when the sultry-sweet voice whispered in his ear, "Oh, sugar-bear."

It was none other than fake Uncle Bobby.

Sam couldn't dredge up the energy to push him/her away, "Look, can you just not? I'd rather be alone right now."

"Why are you so down hearted, honey-bun?" fake Uncle Bobby said, practically cooing like a pigeon, "It's not your Dean-o, is it?"

Sam said nothing, and fake Uncle Bobby let out a feminine sigh, "He's just afraid, honey. Don't let his idjit façade and his inability to make the first move cause you problems."

Sam's fingers clenched and unclenched, but he didn't say anything.

Fake Uncle Bobby continued stroking his hair, and eventually Sam called down enough to actually take in what he/she had said.

"But, wait… No, he's not like that. He's my brother…" he said, with a furrowed brow.

"So what? Love is love, sugar, that's all that matters."

For once, fake Uncle Bobby was actually making some sense.

"But, isn't it – wrong?" Sam said, unable to comprehend the fact that he was even having this conversation.

The hand on his neck stilled, and fake Uncle Bobby's voice sounded as if it were breaking, "Oh, no, you've got it all mixed up. Love is never wrong."

"I beg to differ," Sam huffed; these days he seemed to be a grade A pessimist.

Fake Uncle Bobby grabbed his left ear, between two sharp finger nails, and pulled hard.

"Ow, what is your problem?" Sam said, getting angry. Who the hell did this stranger think he/she was?

"Traveling on the road gets lonely… it's only natural that two strapping young lads, all by themselves, in a small car, would start getting ideas." Fake Uncle Bobby said trailing his/her fingers up Sam's arm, like a spider.

"And, if they perhaps decided to act on their urges, who's to blame them?" he/she finished, hand going back to stroke Sam's hair.

"…" Sam was lost in his thoughts – he'd felt strongly about Dean since his youngest memory. Dean had always been there, whilst there father was as inconsistent as the direction of a blowing wind.

Dean had spent two hours calming down, whilst he retrieved the gasoline.

He'd come to one conclusion: He'd have to come clean to Sammy, and let him either take it or leave it, because he was sick of beating around the bush. It was time for him to man-up.

With this in mind, he set the two full red-gas containers in the back seat of the Impala, and made his way over to the diner.

Stepping in, to the air-conditioned room was a relief. Finally, some things seemed to be going as planned. He scanned the diner, and spotted Sammy sitting at a table, with some unidentifiable gender feeling him up…

Dean's smile slipped off his face, and he felt as if someone had shoved a shank in his stomach and twisted it back and forth. So that's what Sammy liked, no… problem.

Dean stumbled backwards, feeling faint, and bumped into a table, knocking over a chair in the process.

"Sir, are you okay?" said a concerned waitress, stepping into his line of vision.

Dean tried to smile, and wave her away, but a wave of nausea roiled through his body, and he could only manage to choke out a small, "yes."

He scrambled out of the diner, keeping his eyes on Sammy the entire time – whatever, he'd suffered enough. Dean would just let him enjoy himself.

He couldn't go back to their room, there was too much of Sam's stuff – he needed to go someplace where he could breathe, that wouldn't remind him of Sam.

Tough luck, he managed to stumble onto a park bench, right beside a playground.

There was loud ruckus in the diner, and both Sam and fake Uncle Bobby paused, to look over. Sam's breath caught in his throat.

"Dean-" he started to say, but Dean had already left.

Sam turned around, and buried his face into his arms.

"What are you doing, boy?" fake Uncle Bobby sounded exasperated, "Go after him!"

"He doesn't want me. He made that very clear when he ran out of here like he'd seen a ghost – wait, that's wrong… Well, it doesn't matter. He ran away, and that's that." Sam mumbled into his arms.

"I think he saw us together and got the wrong impression, sugar. Go to him." Fake Uncle Bobby said, sympathetically, giving Sam's neck-hair one last caress.

"But-" Sam said, looking up.

"No buts, just go!" fake uncle Bobby commanded, standing at full height, propping one hand up on his/her hip.

Sam stood up reluctantly, but then he became more confident, solidifying his decision. He couldn't let it stay awkward between the two of them forever.

Dean couldn't have chosen a worse place to sit and forget Sammy – just in front of him, he had witnessed a younger brother being bullied, and an elder brother stepping in to protect him.

Screw it, he'd been there for Sammy for all of those years, and he deserved some type of reward. IT was time he put his feelings first. If Dean wanted Sam, then he wasn't going to give up. He was going to fight for him.

Dean stood up, and began his journey back to the motel.

He squeezed through the overly passionate cosplayers, and had to take a moment to appreciate how they picked up on Sam and Dean's sexual tension way better than the brother's themselves had.

He continued on into their motel room without any interruptions, but Sammy was nowhere to be seen. Briefly, anger boiled through Dean's veins – maybe Sam was still at the diner with that hussy – but it calmed down when he reassured himself that he'd always be Sammy's first choice.

Dean had just made it outside of the hotel when he spotted Sam, sitting on the hood of the Impala, that little shit.

Their eyes met, and Dean felt as if time had slowed down. He could do this. It was only a few feet. His body felt as if it were on fire, like he would spontaneously combust at any second, but he continued on, one step at a time.

It wasn't until he was four feet away that one of them spoke.

"You," Sam said, his voice flat, and Dean's skin prickled, and a litany of worries flew through his head - Sam knows, Sam knows and oh lord, he hates him – but then Sam's face broke out into a large smile.

Deans heart literally stopped, "Sammy," was all managed to say, in a breathless whisper.

Sam stood up, closing the gap between them until they were almost chest to chest. Dean's palms felt sweaty, and he was an experienced, grown man, for fuck's sake, he didn't need to be getting nervous!

"Sammy, I- There's something I need to tell you-" he wanted to look away, to break their eye contact, but he was entranced.

"Shh." Sam said, nuzzling his nose against Dean's, and his eyes crinkled up with mirth.

"You – I-"Dean's mouth dried up; his tongue felt like sandpaper.

"You're so dumb; why didn't you tell me before?"

"I- I didn't know." Dean managed to say, his body shaking uncontrollably. His legs felt weak. Oh lord; he was the girl in this relationship, of all things.

"You, you don't hate me?" Dean asked, wishing desperately to break their intimate eye contact.

"That would make me a hypocrite, Dean."

If possible, Sam's smile grew even wider, and Dean's chest constricted with sudden arousal.

Dean snaked one of his hands into Sam's hair and the other around his waist, pulling them flush together, "Say it."

"I love you," Sam said, sounding rather amused, and Dean's eyes fluttered shut.

They were so close, their hearts beating in unison, sharing the same air.

Before Sam could even take in his next breath, Dean's mouth had crashed upon his, like the waves breaking tide on the shore, and it felt as if something finally clicked into place deep within their souls.

Sam was responding before Dean could step away, wrapping his arms around Dean, and pressing his lips against Dean's – and everything was just so Dean, and Sam couldn't believe this was finally happening. For so long he'd been telling himself no, for so long he'd been calling himself disgusting, and finally, he knew better – he was in love, and it was pure, and intense, and as perfect as two dysfunctional hunters could ever hope to be.

Dean's tongue slipped into his mouth, but Sam would have none of that – his tongue tussled with Dean's, until they were breathless, and both burning with arousal hot as lava.

Dean had him pinned up against the Impala, and his erection was digging deep into Sam's right hip. Just as Dean's hand reached up under Sam's shirt, Sam pulled away, panting.

"Dean," he said, breathlessly, "I think we better take this someplace else."

Whatever confusion lingered in Dean's mind was wiped away, and he smiled brightly, like the sun, and Sam's heart melted. He gave Dean one last peck on the lips, and took Dean's left hand in his right.

Tonight, they'd get revenge on their motel neighbors. They'd show them who could moan the loudest.

* * *

TBC... oops

AHH DON'T HATE ME, THEY'LL DO THE NAUGHTY IN THE NEXT CHAPTER OKAY I'M SORRY MY PLOT GOT SWEPT UP IN A TORNADO AND WENT SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW. But I'm happy with how this turned out, and I hope it all flows. I got so excited that I kept jumping around.. ;) I LOVE YOU ALL! 3


	7. Let's Get It On

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the characters. They belong to Kripke and CW.

**A/N:** Thank you so much for sticking through this with me! I cherish you all! Sorry this took me so long to update, I got a little… side tracked.

WARNING, this entire thing is basically porn, so if you don't like it, well, your loss!

**This chapter is dedicated to these wonderful people, whom I lahv very much:**

Mb64, Subtlelife, kjdw, anon guest, BigTimeGleekBTR, MyLoverEric25, anon huntergirl, Velia Mineantea, and AkaKawaZeusTheDestroyer.

You guys made writing this story worthwhile and your reviews meant so much to me! You are all the reason that I kept writing.

ENJOY!

* * *

They made it through the lobby area without any disasters, breaking into a light jog as they neared the stairwell. The cosplayers ignored them, so involved in their own little worlds that they were completely unaware of the fact that they were missing the chance to see their favorite ship become canon.

When Sam and Dean entered the stairwell, they let go of their connected hands and broke into a sprint.

Sam, in all his gigantic glory, managed to trip on the first step. He did a large pinwheel with his arms, and silently cursed Fate, but then Dean caught him by his bicep and steadied him. Dean raised an eyebrow, setting him up straight, and Sam stuck out his tongue.

As soon as they got up the stairs and into the hallway, they pounced and began clawing at each other's clothing. Dean pressed Sam to the nearest door, and kissed him hot, wet, and dirty. Sam retaliated by flipping their positions, and peeling Dean's shirt off over his head.

Letting out a surprised gasp, Dean allowed Sam to pull it off, but then pinned him again as soon as it was flung away.

Dean began attacking Sam's neck, getting half mouthful of cotton collar, half mouthful of salty skin.

A little laugh slipped out of Sam's mouth and he gave Dean a light push.

Dean growled, but backed off, and all but sprinted to their door. Sam let out a fond sigh, but followed right on his heels.

When they stumbled into the motel room they left the light off, and Dean pulled Sam close, with his eyes closed, breathing him in. He didn't know how much he'd missed this, how much he'd craved their closeness.

They swayed gently back and forth, and Sam said, in a shaky whisper, "Dean."

Dean pulled away slightly, to look into Sam's eyes and he smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

Sam smiled back, his cheeks dimpling, and let Dean walk him backwards until he was pushed down onto the bed. Dean came down with him, keeping them from smashing faces with two strategically placed hands place on both sides of Sam's head.

"Dean," Sam said again, tugging on Dean's white undershirt.

Dean's eyes were glinting with something fond and feral, and a shiver went through Sam.

"I want you, so much," Dean said, pressing light kisses onto Sam's face – his forehead, his brow, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth – and Sam let out an amused snort.

"C'mon Dean, I want you!" Sam said, playfully impatient.

"I want it to be special," Dean whispered, slowly unbuttoning Sam's red plaid shirt.

"Dean, as long as I'm with you, it's special," Sam said, tugging Dean's shirt up and letting his eyes drink in Dean's abs. He glided his hands over them, before changing tactics and raking his fingers down them. Dean let out a hiss.

"Okay, if you say so," Dean said, and with a sharp tug, he broke open the rest of Sam's buttons, and he yanked the shit off.

"Hey! I liked that shirt!" Sam said, putting.

Dean ignored him.

With his right hand, Dean pushed Sam's loose arms up and pinned them on the bed, above his head. With his left hand, Dean pulled up Sam's grey undershirt. He let go of Sam's hands, but they stayed there, and pulled the shirt off with both hands.

Sam stilled, watching entranced as Dean's eyes flickered with emotions. He'd wanted for so long to tear down Dean's barriers, but he never knew it was this easy! Sam didn't even huff out a complaint when Dean tossed his shirt away.

Mission completed, Dean settled back down, and Sam crashed their lips together.

"Easy tiger," Dean said, whispering onto Sam's lips, his amusement still coming across loud and clear.

Dean broke their kiss to begin exploring the expanse of Sam's toned chest, first licking his way down Sam's neck. He paused to suck on the left junction above Sam's shoulder and began to nibble, drawing terse whines from Sam's pouty lips.

Dean smiled into Sam's skin, gave the area one last bite, before nibbling his way down to Sam's nipples. He swirled around the left one with his tongue, and Sam let out a hiss.

Gently, he slid his teeth across it, drawing out a moan. Dean brought up his left hand and pinched Sam's right nipple, and Sam writhed, rubbing his clothed dick on Dean's hip.

"Dean," Sam said, tense, bring a hand down to cup Dean's dick.

Dean moaned, releasing Sam's nipple, but he didn't rush to fling off his pants.

Instead, he trailed kisses down Sam's stomach, swirled his tongue in Sam's belly button, and then nuzzled his nose into the coarse hairs trailing below Sam's waistline.

"Dean," Sam said, sharply, squeezing his hand on Dean's still-clothed dick.

"Mmm," Dean said, humming in acknowledgement. He ran his left hand up Sam's stomach, and then trailed it back down, to unzip Sam's jeans.

Dean slipped Sam's jeans off slowly, and stuck a finger under the elastic of Sam's underwear. Sam could only manage a whine in response.

Dean shuck the boxers off fast, and Sam arched as his dick was exposed to the cool air.

The head was already slick with precum, and Dean took it in his hand, spreading it down Sam's erection. Sam let his head flop back onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes tight as his dick hardened fully in Dan's warm hand.

Dean stroked it slowly, enjoying the weight of it in his hand. This was much better than his dream.

Tentatively he licked the tip then circled it with his pink tongue. Sam's hips stuttered, and Dean had to press them down with one of his hands.

Dean spared Sam a quick look, and met his eyes, before taking the head of Sam's dick into his mouth. He had to push down hard to keep from Sam's hips lifting off the bed.

His back arched, and Dean began pumping the shaft slowly.

Sam, though lost in the sensation, still was down to earth enough to recognize that Dean was still wearing pants – where was the fairness in that?

He squeezed Dean again, and began rubbing slow circles, and Dean stopped his ministrations to unzip his jeans and to pull them off.

Sam smirked.

Dean began lapping at Sam's dick again, before he enclosed his mouth around it, careful to keep his teeth away. He'd never given a blow job before, but he'd had enough to know what he did and didn't like – biting was one of his pet peeves.

He swirled his tongue around the shaft, hummed a little, and then sucked some.

Sam was writhing and absolutely wrecked, his eyes wild, and his cheeks flushed.

Dean gave Sam's dick one last deep suck before letting go with a pop.

Sam moaned at the loss of contact, but when he saw Dean sliding off his own boxers, he fell silent.

"Gosh, Sammy," Dean said, taking his throbbing dick into his own hand, "Way to make me do all the work."

Sam would never hear he end of this. Before Dean could do whatever he had planned, Sam pulled Dean down, and began rutting their dicks together.

"Mmph," Dean bit his lip, and rutted right backs, relishing in the slickness of Sam's dick as it slid against his.

Suddenly a loud, feminine moan penetrated through their wall, and Sam and Dean both paused to laugh.

Dean got a wicked twinkle in his eye, and took both of their dicks in his hands, and began pumping.

Sam let out a strangled yelp of surprise, but it quickly turned into a moan.

Soon they were both bucking into Dean's slick hand, gasping and moaning much louder than their friendly neighbors.

Dean could tell from the tight clench in his gut that he was about to cum, and if Sam's shut eyes were any indication, he was about to cum too.

Dean jerked them three times, slow and tight, until the pressure became too much and he spurted all over his and Sam's stomachs. Sam let out a cry, and coated their stomachs also.

The couple in the room over was oddly silent.

"We won!" Sam said with a smile, and something in Dean's chest unfurled. Nothing had changed between them – at least, nothing wrong.

Dean eyed their cum wearily, and decided they could get cleaned up later.

"I love you," Dean said, whispering into Sam's hair.

"I love yo utoo,"Sam replied, sleepily.

Before he drifted off, Dean pulled Sam close, and sent out a silent thank you to the fates for bringing them to this bumpkin town with backwater people.

He could deal with the car later, and send Chuck a message that would keep his mouth shut about his and Sam's little… escapades.

In the room over, a man with reddish-brown hair lounged on the bed, chewing on a snickers bar. There was an array of candy wrappers littering the floor.

He was smugly smirking, and seemed very self-satisfied.

Sometimes, all people needed was just a little push. And in this case, sometimes that push needed to be a whole fucking convention.

* * *

THE END! I sincerely hope you enjoyed this, and sorry if the end was rushed; This was my first porn fic, soo... go easy on me! You guys are the best! (And I have to admit, I was inspired by a merthur fic, where King Arthur and Merlin overheard two boys roleplaying as them. But that's all, the rest is mine and my friend's!)


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